


Inhibition, Loosed

by ember_firedrake



Series: Taking Down Barriers [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Kink Negotiation, M/M, subjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Some Like It Red." Enjolras agrees to be tied up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhibition, Loosed

Enjolras tries to quell his racing nerves at the first touch of the padded cuff on his left wrist. Truth be told, he’d almost forgotten about their conversation. He and Grantaire had gone on their first date, and considering they’d done things out of order it had gone surprisingly well. Other dates had followed, until Enjolras had stopped counting them and just acknowledged they were dating. They’d both gotten tested, though they continued to use condoms just for the sake of easy cleanup. In recent weeks they had taken to studying together, which really became Enjolras studying while Grantaire worked furiously on some art piece, until they both decided to reward each other with sex.

And if Grantaire liked to occasionally surprise him by wearing lingerie, well, Enjolras wasn’t complaining. 

Then finals week had approached, and with it went all of Enjolras’ free time. He was buried under a mountain of work, papers, and studying. He sometimes forgot to eat, he rarely got enough sleep, and became so single-minded in his focus that he hadn’t realized he’d barely seen Grantaire in three days. 

Grantaire had taken in his appearance with far more understanding than his usual graces, and said, “You need to give your mind a rest. I know what could help.”

And there was a subtle suggestion there, the inflection in his tone, that gave Enjolras pause. He remembered what Grantaire had asked him so long ago, and how it had almost been enough to prompt another rise out of him. He couldn’t deny he was intrigued, as he looked at Grantaire, aware of how haggard his appearance must be at the moment, and nodded.

Grantaire had kissed him then, and for a while they lost themselves to that, the sensuous drag of lips and tongue. When he’d pulled away, Grantaire’s face was serious. “I can take your mind off all of this, and help you relax...as long as you need. But I need to know how far you’re okay with me taking this.”

Enjolras had considered this, meeting Grantaire’s expression with an equally somber one of his own. “I can’t say for sure—I don’t have enough firsthand experience to _know_ for sure. But...I trust you, and I trust you to listen if my feelings change.”

They talked more, laying out parameters and precautions so there was no possibility of misunderstanding. Just hearing Grantaire talk about it, in frank language, had some of Enjolras’ finals stress forgotten, and the anticipation of what was to come left him filled with heat. 

Grantaire had insisted they go out to eat first, since Enjolras couldn’t remember his last full meal (he’d been sustaining himself on granola bars and on-the-go wraps eaten in his dorm room). All through dinner Enjolras was distracted, anxious for what he knew would happen later.

He isn’t distracted now. 

Isn’t distracted, now that Grantaire has the cuffs buckled and is drawing his arms above his head on the bed, clipping a line to each that runs back to the headboard. Enjolras can already feel the torrent of thoughts in his head settling, and he lets out a slow breath, adjusting to the feel of his arms above his head. He gives the restraints an experimental tug, but makes no attempt to escape them. 

Grantaire takes in his reaction with a glazed expression. “ _God_ , Enjolras...this isn’t—you aren’t just doing this because I suggested it. It’s an actual _thing_ for you.”

There’s no judgement in his tone, only awe. It settles Enjolras’ nerves, even when he doesn’t have the words to respond. He’s never been in this position before, but Grantaire somehow saw that part of him even when he couldn’t. In lieu of words, his naked body is responding, cock twitching upwards.

Grantaire glances downward, but he makes no move to touch. Instead, he shifts further down the bed. He’s still dressed, and strangely that makes Enjolras feel more grounded. At Grantaire’s encouragement, Enjolras lifts his hips so a pillow can be positioned underneath. Grantaire’s hands trail down his bare thighs, and with a gentle pressure, spreads them apart in a sprawl. The whole time, Grantaire’s eyes are on his face, looking for any sign of reticence. Enjolras gives a small nod.

Grantaire slips the padded band around his thigh and buckles it halfway up, then does the same for his other leg. Enjolras has to take a slow breath—not from nervousness, but from arousal—as Grantaire clips bindings to those restraints.

Enjolras is spread-eagled and open. His legs are now hitched back, giving him no leverage in his hips. The most he can do is bow his back, and even that is an effort. Enjolras is surprised to find there is no surge of panic at his vulnerable state. To the contrary, he feels a thrill of anticipation. His cock is hard and flushed, and only from incidental touches when his clothing was removed. On this, he supposes, he can only blame the restraints.

Grantaire is beside the bed, leaning over Enjolras’ face to place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His hand slides to twine with Enjolras’, and he gives two gentle squeezes. Enjolras repeats the pressure. It’s an assurance. _Yes, I’m still on board with this. Yes, you may continue._

Grantaire moves away from the bed to strip off his clothes. He moves with efficiency, and Enjolras has become familiar by now with the focus Grantaire can adopt, given the right incentive. He shivers as Grantaire takes up a place on the bed, positioned at the open sprawl of his legs. Grantaire kneads the taut muscles of his thighs, and Enjolras feels a flutter of something that is not quite nervousness.

He wonders if Grantaire has noticed how quiet he’s been since the restraints were placed on him. Even making the effort, words are slow to form. “Are you going to tell me I can’t come, like last time?” he asks. Enjolras knows as he says it that he’ll be unable to turn Grantaire over and ride him if frustrated need becomes too much. 

Grantaire tilts his head, but doesn’t cease kneading muscle, slowly working his way inward. “No,” he finally says, “You can come whenever you want. But I’m not going to touch your cock.”

Enjolras’ breath hitches, and that should annoy him—would have annoyed him weeks ago—except there’s this quiet reassurance in Grantaire’s tone. He _will_ come, just not from that. He has only to be patient. Grantaire will get him there. And that knowledge fills him with a new sort of thrill, and if his legs weren’t already spread ( _held_ ) open, he would be canting his hips up in invitation. 

The pressure of Grantaire’s hands disappear, returning again a moment later. One hand resumes the anchoring pressure on the muscle of his thigh, the other begins tracing the space between his buttocks with slick fingers. Enjolras squirms, as much as he is able, letting out a soft sigh as one finger strokes into him. 

He hadn’t realized how stressed he’d become, how much the weight of his workload had been bearing down and wearing him thin. That probing finger slips out again, just tracing the ring of muscle until Enjolras is trembling and tense.

“Grantaire...” 

“ _Let it go._ ” 

Enjolras tries, he does, taking slow breaths until his body is more relaxed and Grantaire slides the finger in again, out and in. By degrees, he feels the layers of stress slipping away, until he is tense for an entirely different reason. He wants more, and it shocks him how much he wants it, how much he wants to be completely taken apart by Grantaire. He isn’t ready to voice that yet, however, so he settles for letting out hitching breaths, trying to move his hips upwards and into Grantaire’s teasing finger.

Grantaire places the palm of his free hand across Enjolras’ abdomen, just above the head of his cock. His thumb slides through the trail of precome left there, as he spreads his fingers, placing insistent pressure to still Enjolras’ movements as a second finger works its way inside him beside the first.

Enjolras clenches down, an involuntary motion because he wants to buck his hips, wants to thrash and fuck himself on Grantaire’s fingers. Wants to—but doesn’t want to give up the way the restraints feel, holding him immobile so he can do nothing but _take_ what Grantaire gives him. And Grantaire does, a slow and inexorable stretch as the two fingers work him open. 

Enjolras groans as those fingers—those long, beautiful artist’s fingers—continue their insistent motions. They seem to thrust a little harder on each inward press, and Grantaire twists and rolls his knuckles as he withdraws again, dragging a hoarse cry from Enjolras. His body is alight with pleasure as he strains against the cuffs and towards those fingers as much as he can—but it’s not enough. His cock is hard and flushed, curving up from his abdomen, but he cannot find release. 

The fingers inside him go almost still, and Enjolras lets out a frustrated noise. It’s not enough. _It’s not enough._

“You’re still too tense,” Grantaire says, his voice so gentle it’s almost painful. “What do you need?”

Enjolras wants to say he needs Grantaire to touch him, _really_ touch him. He needs Grantaire to suck him off, because this slow press of fingers isn’t getting him anywhere near where he needs to be. He needs—he needs—but voicing those needs would be showing too much of himself. He’s wrecked and vulnerable enough, and though he wants this (he _wants_ it), he cannot put it to words yet. 

So instead he keens, writhes on Grantaire’s unmoving fingers, and just says, “ _Please_ —”

And then Grantaire withdraws his fingers and his hand from Enjolras’ abdomen, there’s movement Enjolras can’t see, and the fingers are back again, but this time with a third. Grantaire has reapplied lube, and Enjolras’ breath hitches at the new stretch. It’s more, and it has him shuddering, but it’s still not _enough_.

“ _Let it go_ ,” Grantaire repeats. 

Let what go? Enjolras has already forgotten about his upcoming exams. His world is narrowed down to Grantaire, the restraints anchoring him to the bed, and the feel of long, blunt fingers working their way in and out of him. What else is there to let go? Another twist of Grantaire’s fingers makes him tremble, and there are words, unbidden, on the tip of his tongue. When Grantaire’s fingers massage against his prostate, Enjolras forgets whatever it was keeping his tongue in check.

“ _Fuck_ , Grantaire, please—”

“Please, what?”

Enjolras sobs as those fingers press against that spot once more, and he feels ragged, dismantled, completely undone. “Please fuck me. Please— _god_ —Grantaire, I need it—I need...I need your cock, I need you to fuck me, I need—”

There are more words pouring from his mouth, filth he’d never imagined he’d voice, but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. His face is flushed from shame, but Grantaire looks at him, mouth open and eyes wide. His pupils are so dilated only the thinnest ring of blue surrounds them, and he swallows.

Under Grantaire’s gaze, Enjolras feels emboldened. “I want your cock, bare and nothing else. I want you to fuck me open and fill me, so later I feel it on the insides of my thighs, and whenever I move I can feel where you marked me. I want—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Grantaire says, his tone reverent. “Yes, let me just—”

His fingers are gone, and Enjolras feels empty and hollow for the span of several seconds, and then Grantaire is shifting forward on his knees, and there he is, the hot length of him. There is nothing between them, just skin as Grantaire sinks into him. Enjolras tries to hold in his reaction, but then at Grantaire’s again-repeated “ _Let it go_ ,” he no longer has the will to resist. His inhibitions have been stripped away, and he finally lets go, giving out an audible groan as Grantaire’s hips snap forward, setting a fast and hard rhythm.

And Enjolras feels all of it. Every forward drive of Grantaire’s hips sends a spark of pleasure through his body, and he is held immobile and open on the bed, unable to escape each punishing thrust of Grantaire’s cock. Not that he would want to. He relishes it, encouraging Grantaire with vocal cries that are torn from his throat. 

He’s so caught up from the feel of Grantaire inside him, his own orgasm takes him completely by surprise. He goes tense, his cry choked-off as his cock pulses against his abdomen. It seems to go on forever, nothing has touched his cock since this started and yet he can’t seem to _stop_. The aftershocks leave him trembling, and he goes slack against his bonds.

Above him, Grantaire shudders, finding his own release. Enjolras can feel the hot rush inside him, and he lets out a sigh, shifting minutely against the restraints.

Grantaire sags against him for a moment, just breathing. Too soon, he collects himself, pulling out slowly. Enjolras tries to forget the way he feels hollow again, focusing instead on the slick trail left against the crease of his ass, the way he feels so stretched and open. 

Grantaire is unbuckling the padded straps around his thighs, massaging circulation back into the muscles. Enjolras lets his legs fall into a more naturally relaxed position, while Grantaire moves up the bed to do the same for his wrists. 

The moment he is free, Enjolras wraps Grantaire up in a tight embrace, suddenly wanting contact with every part of his body. Grantaire allows it, pressing fingertips to Enjolras’ back, his other hand carding through Enjolras’ hair. 

Enjolras doesn’t know how long they lay like that, but the seconds have stretched into minutes and Grantaire is murmuring softly against the shell of his ear, whispered nothings that only resolve themselves into words once he focuses his mind.

“...can’t believe you. You’re amazing, trusting me like that. You’re _beautiful_ , you’re—”

Enjolras angles his head until he can capture Grantaire’s lips with his own. They kiss even longer, until Enjolras feels relaxed and strangely calm. Strange, because he thought things might be more awkward, after letting Grantaire tie him up. He can’t bring himself to analyze more closely what that might mean. Later, perhaps. For now, he is comfortable.

Grantaire regards him, and that look of awe is back on his face. It had taken some time for Grantaire to shed his own insecurities in regard to their relationship. The way to combat that is to give him focus. His focus, it seems, is seeing to Enjolras’ needs. Enjolras certainly won’t complain, but he’s more pleased for the effect it has on Grantaire. He hums, pressing his nose to the hollow of Grantaire’s throat.

“When do you have to get back to studying?” Grantaire asks, his breath hitching slightly.

Enjolras considers for a moment. His sleep has been so irregular lately, and he can already feel fatigue tugging at the edges of consciousness. 

“I’ll be fine until tomorrow morning,” he says. He amends a moment later, “Well...midmorning, certainly.”

Grantaire laughs into his hair.

“Noon,” Enjolras decides, succumbing to sleep.


End file.
